


Nightscope

by RedSkyNight



Series: By Night [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bottom Megatron, Character Study, Fingerfucking, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioned but not explicit voyeurism, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Self-Service (Transformers), Sexual Fantasy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yet..., megatron has problems, oh crap I should tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSkyNight/pseuds/RedSkyNight
Summary: night·scope\nīt-skōp\nounan optical device usually using infrared radiation that enables a person to see objects in the dark better.Megatron's out of Sumdac's lab, but the past haunts him. Luckily, he has Optimus Prime to take his mind off things.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: By Night [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461508
Comments: 13
Kudos: 143





	Nightscope

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, it's been months and this is Really Short, and I apologize for that. This is a little uh dark, if only for the implications of Megatron's stay in Sumdac's lab. Most of the tags are relatively mild, and there are no explicit references to torture, but Megatron does imply that what Sumdac unknowingly did to him when he took him apart was akin to assault, so heads-up. 
> 
> I promise the next part will have Real World Smut.

Megatron stared at the little device in his servo, the small data extractor that the resident Decepticon hostage had modified for him. Such a diminutive thing, but it held so much potential, for both his personal interests and his Cause. The Prime hadn’t even noticed when the small data cable had breached his dorsal medical access port — he had probably thought it was simply a bit of his armor caught on Megatron’s sharp claws. However, the little device was anything but simple, as it now contained the personal comm code of one Optimus Prime, the apparent leader of the annoying group of Autobots committed to keeping the squishy little organics from this planet safe. It presented the warlord with a choice, and he stood at the crossroads of it. Megatron had… a problem. A _fixation,_ of sorts, on the Autobot, as much as he could deny it to others, he had never been much for self-deception. He wanted to know _more_ about the Autobot leader. The Prime was quiet in battle, silent save for ordering his team around — but Megatron had seen something in him, something _familiar_. 

Something that had him _craving._

Heavy pedesteps approached the homemade communications console the warlord stood at, interrupting Megatron’s processor as it sought to expand on a long-studied data tree labeled only with the little Prime’s designation, “Glorious Lord Megatron — if I have permission to speak?” 

Ah. Lugnut. Megatron’s optics flared briefly in annoyance at his most loyal — and most dim-witted follower, “What is it, Lugnut?” He turned, servo closing to conceal the small device, hiding it from Lugnut’s many, many curious optics. If the massive warbuild had seen him hide the extractor, he made no note of it, choosing instead to tilt his helm as much as his limited movement allowed him to as he observed his lord. 

“It is not a lowly servant’s place to question you — my noble Lord Megatron! But!” his two-pronged, clawed servos clacked together animatedly, “The Autobot Prime was in our grasp today. Why has he not been _eliminated_ , my Lord?” 

Megatron exvented, deeply, and summoned the will to respond without snapping. “I have _plans_ for the Prime. He’s… obtainable.”

“Obtainable, Lord Megatron?” Lugnut asked, curious. “Surely the might of the Decepticon Empire does not require the participation of one measly civilian!” 

One of Megatron’s servos curled into a fist, as he eyed his somewhat fanatical underling. “ _Surely_ ,” he said, mocking Lugnut’s words, “you are not _questioning_ me, Lugnut. I must have misheard.” He ignored the bomber’s shouted apologies, continuing on, “The Autobot Prime is _useful,_ especially if his loyalties can be influenced.” Not that influencing his _loyalties_ was the only thing he had in mind for the Prime. He cycled his vents, shuttering his optics, “Keep the organic under your watch, I don’t trust it not to attempt to escape — or worse yet, draw attention to our location.” 

Megatron retreated from the communications console, not even sparing a glare for the cowering form of Isaac Sumdac, too out-of-sorts to deal with looking the scientist who’d cut him to pieces in the face. He didn’t think he’d ever truly be able to look upon the little organic monster without a shiver of horrified anxiety rattling his plating. Waking in that lab, feeling bright hot pain and the sense that something was _wrong_ had haunted his processor since he had first tried to recharge. He shoved the thought off, brutally cutting the thought tree that managed the memories of his captivity in that cramped, dark lab. He was _Megatron_ , Scourge of Kaon, the _Slagmaker_ — no fleshy scientist would have any mastery over him. He pointedly ignored the little voice that said Sumdac had claimed mastery over him when he’d hacked into his processor. 

The warlord had cordoned off a section of the mines as his own quarters, the least confined area there was, and he felt a little safer when he reached the dead-end cavern, away from his officers and the captive. It was weak, to hide away, he _knew_ that, but away from the others, the pings of `defense protocols initiated: attack?` finally died off into silence, leaving a substantial portion of his processor clear to think about other things than the potential of his allies betraying him. Megatron sat on the edge of his rough recharge slab, blunted earthen pedes planted on the rocky ground. This form wasn’t his. His frame didn’t feel like his own, no matter what his HUD relayed to him. He took the data miner into his servos again, turning it over in his palms. 

Optimus Prime. His plating shivered again, this time for very different reasons. Maybe he could ease the discomfort beneath his armor the _old-fashioned way_ — he supposed he needed to start touching his own frame again sometime. He hadn’t had any sort of interface since before he’d crash-landed on Earth, a place which had become his own personal hell — and the last time he _had_ , well, it was hardly arousing to have to consider whether or not your berth partner was going to stab you the nanoklik you turned your back on them. Well, he was sure that a medic had once told him that self-service could provide much-needed stress relief. 

One of his servos felt over the seams of his chestplates, claws dipping into seams to draw out charge, the other still feeling over the device in his palm. _Hmm_ , that gave him an interesting idea. The brightly colored Autobot was attractive, far from his standard fare, but there was a certain… _arousing quality_ to be found in a bot unafraid to stand up to him. None of his soldiers could get away with speaking to him the way the Prime did. 

He sighed, servo straying lower to dip his digits into the vents in his abdominal plating, muffling a groan as he tweaked his ventral wiring, feeling some of the stress fade away into rising pleasure. His plating may have changed, but he still knew best how to tease what was underneath. His other servo rolled the device between his digits, thinking of the bright, glossy armor he had felt beneath his touch. He wondered how the Prime would have reacted if he’d kept touching, even after he saw the delighted widening of his optics, the aroused twitch of his finials. Optimus was good at denial, but Megatron would call his bluff, would run his digits over every bit of that trim waist, and _hm_ , it would be perfect, the spread of those thighs around his waist, or perhaps the other way around — _oh, yes!_ — that would be his way to release tonight. 

The Prime was the perfect size, not the kind of large frame type that he’d have to prepare himself to take. Instead, he’d be a small stretch, if he was proportionate, the kind of spike Megatron could ride to overload without worrying about tearing or pain. And, _Primus_ , he wanted to ride the smaller Autobot, he was _fixated_ , old warbuild coding coming online to let him know that Optimus could hold his own in a fight, could _beat_ him, even. His hips rolled into his digits as he cupped his heating modesty panel, imagining bright blue servos on his thighs, teasing the sensitive tensors at his hip joints. He wondered how the Prime would touch himself, if he was fast and rough with his frame, or slow, feeling himself over until his vents puffed steam. Not for the first time since he’d gotten the little remote in his servo, he fantasized about hacking the commlink, being a fly on the wall to the Autobot’s life. Even better, he imagined the gaining camera access, maybe with one of his drones, catching Optimus in the act. The little Prime, spread out across his own berth, panting, fans roaring while his servo moved frantically between his silvery thighs.

Megatron laid back on the recharge slab, digits tracing the seams of his panels, feeling the sparking, tense pleasure grow. The locks disengaged with quiet clicks, folding back to reveal the dark protomesh of his array. His spike cover spiraled open, already making way for his pressurizing shaft, but his servo bypassed it completely, hiking a leg up and out of the way so he could slide his digits over the sensitive, wet mesh of his valve. His hips jumped at the touch, pressing into the delicious coolness of his own servo. Megatron circled a thumb over his pulsing node, the red biolight bright in his dim room. He bit his lip, silencing a groan as he slipped two digits deep into his dripping valve and this time he couldn’t hold back a startled noise of bliss, so revved by the Prime he hadn’t felt his charge rising. He wanted the smaller mech, wanted him sprawled on his berth, crying out beneath him, running hot and crackling with charge. 

The warlord wondered if Optimus preferred his spike or valve, privately hoping for the former—Primus knew it was difficult enough to find a mech who was willing to spike him, most put off by his rank. It was that, or they were a little _too_ into his rank, reading too much into his preference for his valve and acting like it meant more than that _he simply preferred his valve._ Starscream had been like that, enough so that Megatron hadn’t allowed him in his berth for stellar cycles before the crash to Earth. The little Prime wouldn’t be like that, he could tell — at least not in his fantasies. Even if Optimus wasn’t a spike mech, those pretty lips would feel magnificent on him, on his node. 

“ _Hmm,_ ” he groaned out beneath the sound of his cycling fans, hips jolting at the image of the bright mech’s helm between his spread thighs, full lips on his node, teasing charge from his overclocked systems. Megatron curled his digits, activating a cluster of sensors that had his plating flaring to expel heat. His other servo finally dropped the device to hike his thigh up further, teasing the plating as he spread his legs wide enough that he felt the lips of his valve part further, spread open around his digits. 

Megatron hummed, teasing around his node, running the flat of his clawtip over it in gentle circles. He undulated his hips, working himself back onto his servo harder as he tweaked the wiring along the seam of his thigh. His plating shook, already close to the edge as he imagined the glossy feel of the Prime’s armor against his own. Little arcs of charge lept from his plating with quiet crackles as his helm thrashed against the berth, backstrut arching as he overloaded with a shout, his vocalizer shorting out. His servo clutched at his thigh as he worked his node through his overload, lubricant wetting his armor and the berth beneath it as he teased himself straight back to the edge, imagining a set of pretty blue lips, a glossa slick against his folds. 

He keened, heat pooling in his hips again even as his post-overload sensitivity had him crying out in sweet, hot pain-pleasure. His digits curled harshly in his valve, roughly pressing at the delicate sensor clusters as he rolled his hips, coolant gathering at the edge of his optics as his engine roared, desperate to drive himself over again, eager to push away his dark thoughts with a wash of pleasure. He wanted a partner, he _ached_ to have someone else with him, someone else to cling to and push him over again, someone to remind him that his frame was still _his_ — that he was still himself. The noise he choked on was more of a sob than a moan, his digits working harder, shifting to move his other servo to his node, adding a third digit to the aching, fragged-out mess of his valve. He wouldn’t let that _damnable_ organic ruin this for him, not after so much else had been stained forever by his filthy touch. His optics onlined — when had they gone off? — and he looked at the little device laying on the berth beside his helm, latching on to the thought of the little Autobot he’d grown someone fixated on. He fueled his fantasy with the thought of Optimus cupped in his servo as he’d been earlier that very day, the heat of his armor and the defiant way he’d stared back, even with the majority of his faceplate covered by a battlemask. 

His digits slowed on his node, more content to work himself over at a slower pace thinking of the way that the Prime had felt _a little too hot_ against his digits, the way his field had crackled with something that maybe _wasn’t_ determined rage alone. He shivered, stretching the wet mesh of his valve out with a spread of his digits, humming with satisfaction, thoughts pushed away by the slide of metal over his sensitive node, the rolling clench of his calipers. The wave of arousal rose, cresting slower this time, optical feed crossing as his hips quivered, thighs twitching as lubricant spilled onto his digits, coolant dripping from his optics and running down to catch in the edges of his helm. 

Megatron lay there, his fans slowly cycling down as his armor pinged with heat. He pulled his servo away from his array, flicking lubricant from his digits, grimacing at the tacky feel. His abdominal plating was a mess of cooling transfluid, surely getting into the seams of his armor. He looked like a pathetic mess, he was sure of it. His digits wound into fists, ashamed at his weakness as he curled in on himself, settling into the mound of padding that supported the heavy kibble of his upper chassis. He shuttered his optics, venting slow and steady as he fought against a sudden resurgence of guilt and helpless depression.

He sighed, staring at the cold cave walls. Maybe a trip to the washracks was warranted. It had to be late enough that he could avoid his subordinates and the organic menace. 

  
  
  
  


Cleaner and feeling a little more balanced for it, Megatron settled back onto the berth, the device once again clutched in his servo. He had drones still around the city, the little eye-in-the-sky things he’d reprogramed while he had been confined in that _lab._ The Autobots weren’t exactly concealing their base’s location, it was obvious enough with the organic news crews that sometimes crowded around the rundown building. 

Accessing his connection to the little drone, he directed one to the base, having it sneak into the open hole in the roof that made way for one of the ridiculous plants that covered thirty-one percent of the planet. It dove beneath the tree, very carefully navigating past the slim two-wheeler who had taken to recharging in it. The cyberninja, Megatron recognized easily, even as he directed the drone to the vent system, little pincers whirring as it removed the cover and slipped inside. He steered the drone almost lazily, not quite remembering the layout of the base from the last time he’d infiltrated it. He would find it eventually, and for now he was relaxed and calm, clean and sated and firmly ignoring the nagging darkness that sat at the edge of his conscious processor. 

He checked every room through the vent, passing the grate that led into the yellow scout’s room, and snorting as he saw the speedster away and quietly shouting at some brightly-colored game. The next rooms weren’t occupied, a dark, empty commons area and a deserted washrack — though the automatic lights were still on and the floor was wet — someone had been there. 

He contained his enthusiasm as the drone caught sight of red and blue, stopping the bot and settling it quietly so he could gaze in, eager to catch a glimpse of his attractive features, just to _see_ and— 

There the little mech was, curled up, still wet with solvent and shaking on the berth. Megatron’s brow furrowed, taking in the heaving of the Prime’s shoulder struts, the way his armor shook and clamped tight to his frame. He was a little ball of red and blue, helm tucked, finials angled back in abject shame, servos clasped around his knee guards. Megatron turned up the audio sensitivity, curious and a little… _worried_ , despite his detachment from the little Autobot’s happiness. 

With the audio corrected, Megatron could clearly hear Optimus’s shaky, staccato vents the binary chirp and whirr of his vocalizer as he cried into his knees. Megatron’s mood dropped, his own depression returning with a drop that felt almost physical. He shut the feed off, blinking as his optics readapted to the cave, and signaled the lights to go off as well, plunging him into darkness. 

Sometimes, he thought, curling in on himself even further, it was better not to know. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more headcanons on what I think of TFA Megatron's character, hit me up on tumblr @ [Baneswood-Sins](http://baneswood-sins.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Every single comment and kudos you leave brightens my day!


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